The Master
by Bluefire Eternal
Summary: Post-Eragon AU 100 years ago, a Forsworn Rider faked his and his dragon's deaths. Now they are in hiding, waiting for their oppurtunity to make things right in the world and atone for their past sins. Here's a hint, the Rider's alias is Sloan.
1. The First to Fall

**That's right, the crazy authoress who brought you _Inner Fire _(who really needs to get off her lazy butt and update it) is bringing you yet another weird story. This one will be a post-Eragon AU, that means basically from Eldest and Brisingr have not yet happened and probably never will if I have my way with this. As you know, this will deal with a "new" Dragon Rider. No, this Rider will not be some little Mary Sue who magically finds another dragon egg and gets Eragon and/or Murtagh to fall in love with her. This Rider is a canon character, and has been a Rider since before the Fall, and will not be involved in any fluffy romances.**

**NOTE: Fic might include a very little dosage of Eragon-bashing and more than a bit of Roran-bashing, which will wear off after a couple of chapters or so, maybe.**

**Disclaimer: Y'all know the drill, I don't own anything (except the OCs, and the plot, and basically anything that CP didn't make up that's in here.)**

_Prologue: The First to Fall_

_Anyone with a little bit of knowledge of t__he history of the Empire knows about King Galbatorix and his twelve Dragon Riders, collectively known as the Thirteen Forsworn, and how they obliterated the Dragon Riders and conquered Alagaesia as their own. Anyone with more than a little bit of knowledge of history knows that the Forsworn were quick to die, leaving their King all alone as the last Rider._

_Thier numbers gradually diminished over the years. Some were assassinated by __rebels, others could no longer bear the guilt of their dark deeds and killed themselves, and yet the occassional Forsworn would be killed by Galbatorix himself for failure to obey orders._

_These were the ways of death for ten of the thirteen. The only exceptions were, of course, Galbatorix, who still lived and refused to die, and Morzan, who perished at the sword of the legendary Brom. But the final Forsworn, the one who was the first to die, died not because of poison or by hanging, but in a sheer accident._

_It been only a few months after the birth of the Empire, and war against the new regime was already in full-force. Humans in the south rebelled against Galbatorix's rule, and were to one day form a country of their own called Surda. Elves in the northern woods fought against the settlers that came to cut down the trees and start towns, but their efforts were only half-hearted, as they knew the war had been won. And dwarves in the east were being rallied for yet another attack by a rather ambitious young dwarf who thought he could take on the Forsworn._

_Galbatorix, tired of the elves' efforts to sabotage his plans of settling the southern edges of Du Weldenvarden, prepared a plan to stop this nuisance and perhaps capture a hostage or two while he was at it. _

_El__ves were rather difficult to handle and required at least two Riders to successfully crush one of their little rebellions. However, the King could not spare more than one of his Riders, as they all were needed to help control the Empire. After a great deal of thinking he sent Alir to complete this task._

_Alir __was one of the best of the Forsworn, bested only by Galbatorix himself and Morzan. His skill in magic was great, although he couldn't hold a candle to Morzan when it came to sword-fighting. And while not as clever as a strategist, Alir had at least some brains and a little bit of common sense, more than what could be said for Morzan._

_Ever keen to please his master, Alir quickly saddled his dragon and was ready to leave for Cenuon the very night he had received his order. _

_However, fate had other plans. That morning the sky had been pleasant and almost perfectly clear, save for a couple of clouds on the horizon. But by night, the innocent little clouds had gathered to form a pitch-black sky with thunder rumbling ominously in the distance._

_Alir had been strongly advised, more like begged, to not take flight in this weather. His dragon would either be stuck by lightning, or blown into the ground by the ferocious winds that were beginning to pick up. "Wait until the morning," his men told him. "The storm will have passed and nothing but clear skies will await you."_

_But Alir had refused this sensible advice. He wanted to leave that very night and make it to Cenuon early in order to impress Galbatorix. "Besides Salaya is all ready to go and is itching to sink her teeth into some elf-flesh," he had said in a joking voice._

_So his servants escorted him to the dragon hold, where the dark gray she-dragon Salaya stood waiting for her Rider. Alir mounted her, and flashing a reassuring smile, told her to leave._

_Salaya spread her wings and leaped out of the dragon hold. For a single terrifying second the harsh winds battered her around like a cat playing with a mouse and it appeared she would lose control and crash into the castle. But Salaya had adjusted to the winds, and she and Alir disappeared into the darkness of the stormy night._

_The people of Cenuon were excited for the arrival of the Rider that would rid them of their elf-problem and were no longer scared to leave their homes. Some of the bolder ones had even strode right into the trees, facing into the shadows of the forests were elves were sure to be hiding and declared, "Better leave before you get turned into a dragon's breakfast!"_

_And for the next couple of days, the elves seemed to have lost their will to defend their woods. They no longer caused the animals to attack the villagers of Cenuon, and the lumberman who went into the forest no longer disappeared without a trace. It appeared as if the elves had fled, fearing for their lives as the inevitable encounter with Alir and Salaya drew close each moment._

_But a week passed, and still the Dragon Rider never showed up. People were beginning to notice their lack of a dragon and Rider and gossip was beginning to spread._

_"Maybe the King has forsaken Cenuon, and is leaving us for the elves after all."_

_"Perhaps Alir took a small detour to visit a secret lover."_

_"I still say that fool Rider is dead. The elves were probably planning on this, and our dear Alir is most likely rotting in the forest somewhere."_

_Another week passed, and the idle wondering turned into genuine fear. The elves were coming back, and the animal attacks and the disappearances were beginning again. Cenuon was beginning to doubt if Alir was ever coming._

_A couple of weeks turned into a month. The elves' minor harassment was turning into a flow-blown attack. People vanished from their homes, and their bodies appeared days later on the doorsteps of their families' homes. To the people of Cenuon, it seemed like their enimies knew that Alir and Salaya were never coming and their increased attacks seemed to be a way of mocking the king._

_Finally, Galbatorix could bear it no longer. He relented his hope that Alir would still finish the task he was sent to do and called for another Dragon Rider to do the deed instead. A search was launched for the missing pair, and Alagaesia was on full alert. People scanned the sky for a dark gray dragon, combed the forests for a body, and watched the crowds for any who resembled the missing Rider._

_Evantually, the search was abandoned and Alir and Salaya both declared dead. "They most likely died in that thunderstorm," was the thought in anyone's head who read the notice of the deaths. _

_And so life went on, and Alir was to be immortalized in stories as the first Forsworn to lose his life. The simple story of his disappearance evolved into a myth, one that so outrageously differed from the truth that there was very little the same. Salaya became a legend herself, being called the "Ghost of the Spine."_

_The reason for the name? Some people who lived by the Spine said that Salaya crash-landed somewhere in the mountains and evantually succumbed to the wounds the storm inflicted upon her there. The trappers who hunted in the Spine claimed that they saw the ghost of the gray dragon from time to time, forever doomed to roam there forever, in search of her lost Rider._

_Of course, most of everything you heard above it just a common story agreed upon by most people. No one could really prove that Alir and Salaya died in that storm anymore than they could prove they didn't. Even if they had never been seen again, didn't mean they were dead. Alir and his dragon could have simply deserted their post, faked their deaths, and left Alagaesia._

_And that was exactly what they did. Over the months as a member of the Forsworn, Alir had begun to regret what direction his past choices had taken him in. Although he did not feel sorry for the unjust and corrupted society he helped put an end to, he was dirturbed by the price he had to pay to free the world of the Dragon Riders._

_All of those bloody battles and massacring of countless innocent dragons, elves and dwarfs, Alir and his friends had lost themselves. They had started as a small group fiercely dedicated to the task of removing the tyranny of the Dragon Riders from the world and would sacrifice their lives to reach that goal. But they had lost themselves along the way; becoming mad with their new-found power, enjoying the blood-shed with a maniacal pleasure, and had become what they had set out to destroy._

_Salaya had been able to see where this life was taking them, and had been able to make Alir see that as well when he had been too stubborn to admit it. It was she who had helped Alir discover the regret he felt, and he was forever thankful to his dragon. Together they devised a plan of escape and waited until the time was right to enable it._

_Believed to be dead and free of Galbatorix, dragon and Rider set out to the lands beyond Alagaesia to learn the secrets of magic and to explore distant countries. Decades later they returned to Alagaesia, armed with magical abilities far beyond Galbatorix's own, and waited for the perfect opportunity to overthrow the King._

_Alir and Salaya, although in possession of great power, could not defeat the King themselves. Their oaths they had made long ago prevented them from harming Galbatorix in any way. The sins of the past still existed, and any rebel group would not allow one of the destroyers of the Dragon Riders to join their ranks. _

_So Alir moved to a small village, taking up a new life for the time being. He and Salaya might have been incapable of destroying the Empire they helped to create, but they could still teach their secrets to any new Dragon Riders that came along. _

_Alir fell in love, got married, and started a family with his lovely new bride. He opened up a shop in the small village they lived in, one prosperous enough so that he and his family could at least live in moderate comfort. _

_Salaya was forced to hide herself in the Spine if her Rider's cover was to be kept. As she was the last dragon in the entire mountain range, she lived in complete isolation, alone except for the occasional secret visits from Alir. However, with lots of free time she began to explore the Spine and get to know all of its hidden trails and caves, finding new things everyday that helped to occupy her time._

_The two bided their time, content for now with their new less-than-exciting lives. But both were still alert, still ready, to fulfill the final stage of their plan when the oppurtune moment came. Both were ready to alter the fate of Alagaesia one last time, and make sure it was free of tyranny forever..._

_When the time was ripe._

**And that was it. Yes, the prologue is pretty much unexciting and a huge info-dump, but the action will come in the next chapter. Yeah... that's pretty much all I have to say for this chapter.**


	2. The Secret Life of Sloan

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Salaya and the secret life of her Rider.**

The butcher shop of Carvahall was deserted, save for its owner. It was late in the afternoon and Sloan was preparing to close down for the day and head home. At the moment, he was finishing up his task of preparing an order for a client down in Therinsford. Aside from the sound of his knife hacking meat up into tiny pieces, all was silent, and that was the way Sloan liked it. Calm and peaceful.

The sound of knocking on his door caused Sloan to stop his process of cutting and slicing, and the butcher scowled at the breaking of the usual peace. He glared at the door, already knowing who the knocker was. "Come in," he said roughly.

A boy barely into his thirteenth opened the door and walked into the shop. Nolfavrell looked around, his attention riveted on the sharp knife in Sloan's hand. He swallowed nervously, imaging the butcher growing tired of his presence and running the blade through him.

Sloan's alert gray eyes flickered from Nolfavrell to the knife, and he rolled his eyes. "Do you honestly think I'd kill you, boy?" he asked. Noticing the boy's frightened look, the butcher thought it was best not to dwell on the subject. "Well, stop standing around and get over here. Are you here to deliver the package Morn ordered or not?"

Nolfavrell hurried over, taking the small package that Sloan had left on the counter into his hands. He stared at the object suspiciously, almost as if he expected evil to crawl out of it. "This what Morn ordered, right? The slabs of pork that he requested for feeding the travelers that come to his tavern?"

"Of course it's the pork!" Sloan snapped. "Does old Morn really think I'd try and swindle him out of his money and give him some other meat instead of what he ordered for?"

The boy shook his head hastily. "I just wanted to make sure." Thinking it wise to leave before he seriously agitated the older man, Nolfavrell quickly threw the crowns that Morn had given him to pay for the delivery onto the counter and hurried out of the shop, leaving Sloan alone again.

The man sighed and shook his head, glaring at the door that had slammed behind Nolfavrell. _Stupid boy, _he thought. _If he had a bit more of his father's brains he and every other young person in Carvahall would realise that I'm not some crazy old man out to kill them._

He was unsuprise when a feminine voice responded in a reproachful tone. _Don't blame it on Nolfavrell. It's not his fault he's terrified of you because you're too brusque and anti-social a person to show the rest of the world how nice you really are._

Alir scoffed. _Nice, Salaya? How can a man that murdered hundreds of innocent people in cold blood be considered "nice?"_

_Because you repented for your past crimes and swore to help a new Dragon Rider defeat Galbatorix when the time comes, _Salaya answered. _Besides, you always are so kind to me and Katrina. Why not show that to everyone else?_

Alir went back to his task to chopping up his meat, shrugging. _I never was much of a people person, Salaya, even before you hatched for me. And I think all those years of isolation up in the mountains killed off any chance I'd become a great conversationalist._

The dragon sighed and her Rider could feel her frustration coming off of her. _Do you know how much of a bore it is to live in the Spine? _she said, dropping the previous topic as she knew Alir could not be budged. _All I do is fly around and explore, and I practically know the Spine like I know you. Can you please come down and visit soon so we can have a proper chat?_

A smile tugged at Alir's lips and he grinned, although Salaya could not see it. _As a matter of fact, I was planning to do so right after I finished up here. Meet you by the Igualda Falls, same as always?_

_Of course. Just make sure to keep an eye out for Roran. I have spotted him not far from our usual meeting place on one of the hunts he has with his friends. _

Alir frowned at the mention of Roran's name, but he didn't let is ill feelings for his daughter's "secret" lover spoil his good mood. Instead he scoffed, dismissing the threat of being discovered with a wave of his hand. _If I can fool the King into believing I was dead for over one hundred years, I can certainly evade some farm boy._

0000000000000

In public, Katrina was everything a young lady should be. She was quiet and polite and never said a single bad thing about anybody behind their backs. However, in the privacy in her own home without the judgemental ears of her father or lover to hear her, she had every bit of a sailor's mouth her mother had.

Using some particularly colorful language she had often heard directed at others, Katrina nursed the nasty wound that she had accidentally inflicted upon herself with her needle as she tried to darn one of her father's patchy tunics.

Most important rule of sewing: never let yourself get distracted while handling a very sharp needle.

Unlike Ismira, Katrina really had never been a great seamstress. While she could do minor rips and tears without much trouble, the legendary feats of repairing massive holes without leaving a trace, like those Ismira had been admired for, had been lost upon her daughter. It was everything Katrina could do to darn Sloan's tunics, and letting herself imagine Roran while she sewed had been a big mistake.

Katrina took the patch she had been trying to sew onto the tunic and wrapped it around her bleeding finger. She got up, searching for the bandages she had stowed away for little incidents like these.

Had Katrina not left her spot by the fireplace and got up, she would never had noticed her father strolling by the house.

The small family lived at the edge of Carvahall in a tiny cottage that had three rooms. Sloan had often complained that the home had been too close to the Spine, although Ismira had loved the location as it was near the Igualda Falls, her favorite spot to pick wildflowers in the spring and summer.

Dressing her wound, Katrina wondered where her father was going. Sloan was obviously not stopping by the cottage, as he was already passing it and heading out west.

The girl's brow furrowed in confusion as she saw that Sloan was not heading toward any of the houses past them, but instead into the shadowy woods that were already darkening as the sun set in the sky above.

_Why would he be heading into the Spine? _Katrina thought. _Father said he'd never go into there again after Mother died, but there he is, walking straight in the direction of Igualda Falls. Is he going there to mourn Mother?_

She had half a mind to secretly follow her father and see where he was going, but she decided against it. Sloan was not the type to sneak around and do terrible things behind his daughter's back, and was most probably going to the Falls to mourn for his wife; who had met her death by falling over the cliff and snapping her neck.

Katrina shook her head, returning to her personal vendetta to rid those patchy tunics of their holes.

_Father may do whatever he likes in those woods, it's really none of my business anyway. He just better not be meeting another woman._

000000000000

Unbeknown to Katrina, whose thoughts about meeting another woman were technically the truth, her father was hiking up the Igualda Falls to await the arrival of Salaya.

The Falls were a very beautiful place where water tumbled down a cliff at least half a mile high and into the Anora River. The area around it was untouched by man, with nothing but green trees and plants surrounding it. It was well-known in Alagaesia, and most likely the sole reason why the small village was known outside of Palancar Valley.

However, for Alir the beauty of the Falls was tainted and deadly. After the untimely death of his wife he could no longer look up at the awe-inspiring Igualda Falls and not see a delicate figure lose her footing and fall into the raging water below. No matter what people said about the place, he would never forget the lives it took.

Sighing, the former Forsworn abandoned his morbid thoughts in favor of watching the sky. When Alir had left the butcher shop it had been close to sunset, but now it was nearing the end of twilight. The sun was almost out of sight by now, leaving only a few traces of fiery red and orange behind. In the coming darkness, it was almost impossible for anyone to pick out the dark shape that had rose up out of the Spine and was rapidly coming closer.

Alir automatically stepped back, making sure to give Salaya plenty of room to land. His dragon might have once been small and capable of landing just about anywhere, but now she was over one hundred years old and took up a lot of space.

_Thank you for taking my size into consideration, _Salaya said with a trace of amusement in her voice. _I would hate to accidentally land on you, dear Rider._

_So you say, _Alir joked.

Salaya was descending in a lazy spiral now, her dark gray form coming closer and closer. She gracefully landed on the cliffs of the Igualda Falls, leaving just enough room for her Rider to be able to get closer.

The dark gray dragon rumbled in greeting, rubbing against Alir with her massive head. Her ice-blue eyes calmly took him in, disapproval evident in them. _You really need to exercise more, _she told Alir bluntly. _You're starting to look like a pig being readied for slaughter._

_Really funny, Salaya, _Alir said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. _If I could practice my sword-play and my magic without being discovered, I would be exercising properly. _He looked down at the _gedwey ignasia_ that was forever stamped upon his right hand and sighed. _Things would be so much easier if a damned new Dragon Rider just showed himself already._

_I've heard rumours about a new Rider from trappers and people traveling through the Spine, _Salaya said. _There's been the same old gossip that can not possibly be true, but there's been more talk going around than us than usual, and I've heard several people discussing the topic. _

Alir's head shot up, his gray eyes suddenly attentive. "What is the talk about?" he asked aloud.

_There's been whispers of a wild dragon that roams these mountains who the hunters call "the Ghost the Spine." _Salaya snorted at the stupid nickname. _And, talk of a young man who rides a blue dragon that fought against the King's army somewhere in the Beor Mountains. It's also been rumoured that a Shade was present at this battle, and that the Rider killed it and earned the name "Shadeslayer."_

"A blue dragon?" Alir murmured thoughtfully. "Could it have come from the same egg that Eragon tried to sell to me for meat?"

_Possibly, _Salaya admitted. She growled reproachfully, her eyes hard. _I still find it foolish that you didn't take one of the world's last dragon eggs from that boy and allowed it to slip out of your grasp._

Alir shrugged. "I had no choice. If I had taken the egg, talk of it would have reached Galbatorix eventually. In no time flat soldiers would be knocking at my door, or worse, Ra'zac, demanding to know of what befallen the egg. Katrina and I would be taken in for questioning, and good old Galbatorix would have discovered what happened to the young Rider who served him all those years ago and mysteriously disappeared."

Salaya remained silent for a time, still upset about the dragon egg. Finally she said, _Do you think this matter is worth looking into? Eragon did flee Carvahall with that old storyteller Brom and someone who the dragon inside the egg liked could have met them and became a Rider._

Her Rider stroked his chin in consideration. "This could just be another false story made up by some fanciful fool," he mused. "However, there is a chance that it could be true. There's no need to rush into this and jeopardize our cover and Katrina's safety at the moment." Alir looked at his dragon, silently asking for her permission. "We should wait and see if more rumours surface from reliable sources. If they are indeed true, Salaya, you know I'd leave with you without a moment's hesitation."

The gray dragon nodded her head in understanding. _I guess I can stand a few more weeks of living in the Spine, _she decided. _However, I will agree to wait for you on one condition._

Alir winced. "What is it?"

_That you agree to visit me more than once a month, and that we do this more often._

"What more often?"

_This! _Without warning Salaya bent down and seized her Rider by his tunic, lifting him up into the air. She swung her head around and placed him on her back, right between the familiar spot between two of her spikes. The gray dragon spread her wings and jumped into the sky, stealing Alir away from his mundane life if only for a few hours of care-free flying.

Alir grinned in delight, relishing the feel of the cool night air against his face. For now he could abandon his worries and troubles that came with his cover. He could forget about his butcher shop and Roran and drop the act he had to keep as Sloan.

For now he could just be Alir, with no one but Salaya for company.

**This chapter's a bit slow and I'm not completely satisfied with it, but it'll do. Just wanted to show a little Alir/Salaya interaction and establish basic things and what-not.**

**Next chapter: Katrina becomes suspicious of her father and a Roran/Sloan confrontation.**


	3. The Wooden Chest

**Nope, this story was not abandoned, just pushed to the side. Updates will come infrequently, but I do intend to finish it.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize from _the Inheritance Cycle. _However, Sloan's secret past belong to me, as well as my OC Salaya, and any other original material you do not recognize as canon.**

Katrina balanced precariously upon a wooden stool, straining to reach the roof of her family's cottage. She was tip-toed, stretching as far as she could, and waving her feather duster around wildly. The spiderwebs clustered around the rafters lay just out of reach, taunting her.

_Come on, come on. _

Katrina stretched her arm as far as it could go, ignoring the aches this caused. The tip of the feather duster just brushed against the bellies of the lower spiderwebs and she took from it.. Grinning triumphantly, Katrina forced herself onto her toes. If only she could just reach a little higher...

_CRE-AKK._

The wooden stool beneath Katrina suddenly gave out. She fell to the ground with a startled shriek, landing upon the ruined remnants of the stool. Katrina cursed as she stumbled off of it, wincing as she felt the splinters in her body dig ever deeper into her skin.

She glared up at the cobwebs, which hung tantalizingly overhead. Katrina could have sworn those stupid webs were laughing at her by the way they teased her so. The copper-haired woman used a steady stream of curses she had picked up from Ismira, forcing herself to pick the splinters from her skin and to clean up the remains of the wooden stool.

_Whoever said housework was easy on the woman's body was sorely deluded, _she thought as she tossed the splintery remnants into the still-burning fire.

Katrina grinned in satisfaction as she watched the irksome little stool burn in the flames. Aye, this form of vengeance upon her enemies suited her just fine. After watching the wood wither into mere ash, the young woman turned away from the fireplace and sought for a new task to occupy her.

Spotting the accursed feather duster upon the ground, Katrina felt an impulse to burn it as well. However, she was forced to grudgingly admit she couldn't burn everything in the house that displeased her, lest Sloan would come home to nothing but a pile of charred wood that had once been their cottage. She retrieved the duster, going about the rooms to clean the dust and cobwebs from them she _could_ reach without the aid of the late stool.

As she dusted, Katrina allowed her mind to wander.

At first her thoughts went to Roran, as they always did. Her secret lover had been planning to propose to her for months now, but had been unable to. His farm and savings were burned to the ground and his family either missing or dead. Roran was currently staying with Horst, helping the blacksmith with odd-jobs or else going hunting to gather meat. He was working as hard as he could, trying to win Sloan's approval. It didn't help that her father was a hard man to please and would not be impressed by an orphaned young man with only a desecrated farm to his name trying to marry his precious daughter.

_Sloan._

Katrina's thoughts wandered to her father.

Sloan had always been cold and anti-social on the surface, distrusting of strangers of wary even of his closest friends. Carvahall despised him, fearful of his harsh attitude and sharp words. But he had been warm and loving to Ismira and, when she had been born, Katrina. Sloan had always treated them like princesses, and only desired what was best for them.

Then Ismira had fallen into the raging water of Igualda Falls, and Sloan had been forever changed. He no longer smiled or laughed, even in the privacy of his own home, and was distant even with Katrina. There was a bitter air about him, only further convincing the villagers that he had only evil intents at heart.

Katrina smiled, thinking, _But lately he doesn't frown or scowl so much._

Sloan had changed in the past few days since his daughter had spied him heading off into the Spine. He had been in uncharacteristically high spirits since then, opening up to Katrina more often and even tolerating his customers more. There was a sparkle in his gray eyes that had not been present since Ismira's death and more coppery-brown in his hair than gray. Her father had even begun to lose some of the weight that he had been beginning to gather around his mid-section, making him look even more like the man Katrina remembered from her early childhood.

Katrina had not been the only one to notice these changes. All of Carvahall knew of Sloan's mysterious excursions and all had their outrageous theories of where he was going every day. The most prominent of these rumours was that Sloan was visiting a woman in the woods, a sort of secret lover, if you will.

Katrina didn't doubt that it was a woman; only such a person could bring out the tenderness in Sloan, and only a kindhearted and endearing woman at that. There were all sorts of rumours of who the identity of this mysterious woman, ranging from an unfaithful wife from Carvahall to a whore from Therinsford. Katrina knew her father well enough to know he would never stoop so low as to test the virture of another man's wife or employ a slattern. Part of her doubted he was even being _that_ intimate with this person.

Whatever this woman was doing, Katrina supported her fully. Sloan was changing for the better and seemed more tolerant these days. Tolerant enough to talk to Roran about a marriage, perhaps...

Katrina halted, snapping out of her thoughts. Her absentminded dusting had brought her into Sloan's room and she instantly became frightened at the thought.

It wasn't as if Sloan had forbidden her to enter his room, but she knew her father was a man that valued his privacy. At the foot of his bed stood an ancient wooden chest that no one was allowed to open. Sloan had only said that the chest contained all that was left of his life from before having moved into Carvahall and what was inside was for his eyes only. Even Ismira had never seen the contents of the wooden chest. There was no lock upon it, as Sloan trusted her to mind her own business, but the temptation to peak inside was great.

When Katrina had been a child, she had often dreamed about that chest. She had entertained thoughts that her father had once been a great thief and the chest contained all of the gold and jewels he had stolen. Or perhaps he was a king from distant country, and in his trunk he hid his crown and scepter.

Now she was alone in the cottage, Sloan miles off into the Spine, with only his wooden chest for company. Those childhood fantasies flooded back to her, as well as her previous curiosity.

_A small peak inside wouldn't harm anyone. What Father doesn't know won't hurt him..._

Unable to resist the temptation, Katrina dropped her feather duster and leaned over the chest. Wrenching off the top, she peered inside, expecting to see something fantasticly wonderful.

Would there be gold or jewels? Or maybe a crown or a scepter or....old clothes?

Katrina frowned as she gazed down at what could only be the tunics she had darned for her father only a few days ago. She pawed through the clothes, rummaging through them to see if anything had been hidden inside them. However, she found nothing out of the ordinary. Katrina pulled away, ashamed of her actions.

_How could I have done that? Father trusted me with this chest and I violated his trust! There wasn't anything in this stupid trunk aside from old-_

The young woman froze, feeling her hand brush against something hard.

That was _definitely _not clothes!

Trembling with anticipation, Katrina wrested some oddly-shaped package from the bottom of the chest. She carefully unwrapped it and gasped at what she saw.

An old and battered sheath, with the sword still inside. Hands shaking, the copper-haired woman grabbed the blade by its hilt and slowly pulled it out of its scabbard to examine it...

_Impossible!_

Katrina had seen swords before. The rude soldiers of the Empire that sometimes wandered into Carvahall had blades, some of which they had proudly showed her as if they thought she would be impressed at some rusted and blood-stained weapon.

This sword however, was far different than the ones the soldiers have waved in her face.

It was slender and its point as sharp as a dragon's fang. The blade of the sword was dark gray like a storm cloud, and its hilt a brilliant silver. An iron-colored jewel was embedded in the pommel. Katrina gaped at the blade, running a finger along the strange black symbol etched into the hilt.

What had Sloan been hiding from her?

* * *

Though it was almost noon, mist still clung to the earth, especially in the wilderness near Igualda Falls. The fog was so dense it made seeing difficult and seeped into his clothes and made him cold. It was too dismal a day for Roran's liking, yet the hunt he was on had to continue today before the deer moved on. Albriech and Baldor, Horst's two sons, walked along beside him. The trio made no effort to remain silent, as they were positive that the deer had moved on further into the Spine the night before.

Albriech suddenly stopped, bending down to examine a pair of tracks in the ground. "Damn," he muttered. "Our hunch was confirmed. The herd of deer that Father spotted here earlier moved on."

Roran joined the other hunter, frowning when he too saw the hoof-prints that were all leading west into the Spine. "Oh, well," he sighed. "We might as well head back. With all the noise we'd made, stomping about this forest, all of the animals in the area must have run off."

Albriech sighed. "I'd rather not slave away in my father's forge all day, Roran." At a sudden idea, he smirked. "Do you know how mad old Sloan has been sneaking off lately? Rumour has it that some old broad is getting intimate with him somewhere near this area!"

Roran eyed his friend. "You really want to see Sloan like that?"

"No! I just want to see what crazy slattern would even think of touching the like of _that!_"

The other man smirked wickedly. "That does sound more entertaining than spending hours in that hot forge."

Baldor, the kinder of Horst's two sons, broke in worriedly. "Are you sure you two want to do that? Sloan's personal life is none of our business and we have no right to spy on him and his lover like that! Besides," Baldor paled and glanced around as if they were being watched, lowering his voice to a panicked whisper, "do you really want to invoke the wrath of the ghost like that?"

Roran blinked in confusion. "Whose ghost?"

"The Ghost of the Spine!" Baldor hissed back. "Legend has it that one of Galbatorix's Forsworn and his dragon died in a storm above Igualda Falls one hundred years ago! The ghost of the Forsworn's dragon still haunts the area where she died, killing all who are unfortunate enough to stumble into her path!"

Albriech scoffed. "That's just an old myth Father used to tell us at bedtime so that we didn't wander off into the Spine alone," he replied.

"But did one of Galbatorix's Riders and their dragon really die here?" Roran asked.

"Aye," Albriech reluctantly conceded. "According to my Father some Forsworn member named Alir and his dragon really did perish in a storm on the way to Cenuon. Their bodies were never found, but the mad trappers that practically live in the Spine claimed they've seen the ghost of Alir's dragon haunting the area around the Falls."

A low growl suddenly cut through the mist and three hunters whirled about, stringing their bows and looking wildly around.

"What was that?" Albriech demanded in a trembling voice.

"The Ghost of the Spine!" Baldor exclaimed in a terrified whisper. "She's come to kill us!"

"Quiet!" Roran snapped. He strained to hear beyond the distant roaring of the Falls and his own thumping heart. "Let me listen."

The same growl sounded again, this time louder. A scraping sound came from around them, like that of scales rubbing against rock. Petrified, the hunters listened intently as the frightening sounds came ever closer to where they stood. Finally, Roran felt something breathing down his neck and all three spun around to gaze up in terror at what had been stalking them.

Two ice-blue eyes glared at them from out of the mist, located very high above their heads. The ethereal shape of something _very_ massive appeared in the fog, something connected to the pair of eyes. The spectral dragon let loose a blood-curdling roar that turned their blood to ice and vibrated their bones.

Screaming, all three hunters dropped their weapons and fled back in the direction of Carvahall.

The Ghost of the Spine roared again and sent a plume of silver fire chasing after them. Roran ran as fast he could, barely avoiding the flames, sparing only a few quick seconds to give the phantom one last glance over his shoulder.

The Ghost of the Spine remained where she was, staring after them. Suddenly, the fog around her withdrew, revealing a humanoid figure sitting upon her back. Alir's ghost glared at him with chilling gray eyes and raised his hand as if to cast a spell-

"NO!" Roran focused back on fleeing for his life, sending prayers to all the gods he knew of that he might survive this encounter.

_Now _he truly believed in ghosts.

* * *

Salaya gave a raspy chuckle, blue eyes shining in an amusement as she watched the area where the three terrified hunters had disappeared. _That shall teach those pesky youths to heed their elders' warnings and stay out of the Spine. The ghost of that scary yet attractive dragon might just get them the next time!_

Alir smiled, trying to look reproachful at his dragon for such crude methods, but his eyes betrayed his joy at getting some sort of revenge upon the bothersome Roran. "Indeed," he replied. His bemused smile quickly morphed into a frown, however, as he thought of the consequences his actions might have. "Now all of Carvahall shall know about the 'ghosts' that haunt the Spine. Do you think Galbatorix shall hear of this encounter and send someone to investigate?"

Salaya snorted. _All of the stories the King must have heard of phantoms haunting areas where Riders and dragons met their deaths must have surely bored him by now. As far as he is concerned, this is yet another tale those made hunters cooked up in some vain effort to get attention._

Alir nodded thoughtfully. "And the elders of the village will just assume Roran and his companions imagined something. This mist is very eerie, after all. Still, Roran is as persistent as Garrow was. There is no doubt that he won't come back here to investigate further once his initial fear wears off, if only to retrieve his bow and arrows."

_I shall not stop seeing you just because Roran grows suspicious, if that is what you are asking, _the gray dragon said hotly. _If he continues to pursue the matter, than perhaps he should disappear all together. The Ghost of the Spine supposedly takes lives every day. Perhaps it is time she finally instills real fear into the hearts of the villagers._

Alir chuckled, seeing right through Salaya's frightening facade. He patted her on the neck and mused, "Do you think anyone would notice if Roran and I went into the woods one day and only one came back?"

The gray dragon remained silent, unable to tell if her Rider was serious or not. The playful twinkle in his eye was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.

**Next chapter: Katrina confronts her father on the matter of the sword. And Roran, deciding to take some advice for a change, goes to talk to Sloan on the matter of his daughter's hand in marriage. Oh, is this going to be fun. -evil grin-**


End file.
